


we keep it going on and on

by thatworldinverted



Series: let's talk about sex [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blow Jobs, Come Shot, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Derek, Dom/sub, Facials, Frottage, Light BDSM, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Sub Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:19:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatworldinverted/pseuds/thatworldinverted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is tucked into one of Derek's white dress shirts, the sleeves a touch too long, the shoulders just a bit too broad.</p>
<p>He looks... soft. Young. Demure. Like something to be <i>defiled</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we keep it going on and on

There are days when Derek’s not sure why he thought working at a bookstore would be a good idea. A woman _threw a book_ at him today because she didn’t like the ending.

As if he had any choice in the matter.

He’s tired, and frustrated, and the lock on his apartment door is sticking _again_. He thumps his head against the door instead of giving into his first urge, which is just to kick it down and worry about it later.

It isn’t until his face is pressed against the wood that he smells it- _Stiles_.

Suddenly his day is looking up.

“Stiles,” he calls as he manages to finagle the door open. “I didn’t realize you were coming home this-”

Derek’s throat clogs as he catches sight of Stiles. He’s learning that Stiles likes to make an entrance, set a scene, and this time is no different- kneeling on the living room floor, hands curled in his lap, tucked into one of Derek’s white dress shirts. The sleeves are a touch too long, the shoulders just the slightest bit too broad, and he looks... soft, and young, demure, _fuck_ , like something to be defiled.

“Hi, baby.”

He tosses his keys and wallet towards the table as he crosses to Stiles. Vaguely, he hears them clatter to the floor.

“Were you waiting for daddy to come home?”

Stiles rubs his face into the press of Derek’s palm on his cheek.

“Mmhmm. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Give daddy a hug?”

Stiles bounces to his feet, and _Jesus fucking Christ_ , all he’s got on under Derek’s shirt is a pair of snug, white briefs. Usually Stiles wears boxers, loose and a little saggy, but these- these cup the lines of his hips, the soft weight of his dick.

They come together, and it’s innocent enough, really, but just the press of their bodies winds him a little tighter. Derek’s hands stroke down the length of Stiles’ spine, smoothing over the sharp wings of his shoulder blades, trailing down to rest just above the curve of his ass.

Stiles smells delicious, clean and fresh and like _Derek_ , Derek’s shower gel, Derek’s laundry detergent. Like he _belongs_ here.

The realization that goes straight to Derek’s dick, that this is what Stiles would smell like if he lived here. If they lived together, if he got to have Stiles all the time.

It’s startling, how electric it is, how much it makes him _want_. He gets his hands around sleek thighs and hitches Stiles up until he’s clinging to Derek, face nuzzled sweetly into Derek’s neck.

The couch is only a few steps away and they sink down into it, Stiles sprawled across Derek’s lap, still curled into Derek’s arms. He peppers kisses across the line of Derek’s jaw, soft little things that, conversely, make Derek fight the urge to bite.

Finally Stiles brings their mouths together in a series of dry, chaste little brushes that pull away before Derek can get a taste. Each moment of contact prickles across his skin until he can’t take the tease for another second; he clamps a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and holds him in place, gets him right where Derek wants him.

He digs his teeth into the fullness of Stiles’ bottom lip, nipping and tugging until that gorgeous, fuckable mouth falls open on a gasp. It’s too much of a temptation to bother resisting and he slips inside, twisting and curling, pulling back until there’s nothing but the obscene twining of their tongues in the open air.

The dip of his tongue is a filthy mockery of what he wants to do to Stiles _everywhere_ , wants to fuck into him and fill him up, take that wide-open mouth and sweet little ass until Stiles is sobbing around Derek’s fingers, his tongue, his dick.

He savors the taste of Stiles’ moans, curls his hands around narrow hips and rocks them together just so that he can get more out of Stiles’ mouth. There’s a thick, solid line filling out those little boy briefs, now.

Stiles’ body rolls, mindless, following the rhythm Derek’s tongue sets, begging for more, Christ, and it’s so, so good, the way that Stiles gives himself over. Derek can’t help himself, has to slip a finger deeper, has to rub soft cotton over tender, hidden flesh until Stiles jolts and shudders.

“Derek- _mmm_ \- Derek, keep that up and I’m going to come right here in your lap.”

_Yes_. Derek can’t stop the way his dick twitches at that.

“Going to make a mess, baby boy? Come all over yourself for me?”

God, it’s enticing, the idea of it, Stiles’ cock trapped and soaking behind soiled white cotton.

“I want to see it, Stiles. Ah, no touching,” he says as Stiles’ hand strays towards his underwear. “You’re going to come right here, and you’re going to rub yourself off on me like the filthy little thing we both know you are.”

Stiles flushes red from his hairline to his collarbone, the skin hot when Derek puts his mouth to it. He moans under Derek’s mouth, and Derek’s teeth sink down until they pinch flesh against bone. Fingers flex against Derek’s shoulders, a reminder of the rules he _just_ set.

He pulls back regretfully. “I said no touching, remember? Break the rules again and you won’t be coming at all tonight.”

“Sorry, daddy,” Stiles whispers, breath blowing hot and shivery against Derek’s ear. His hands wrap around the back of the couch instead, leverage that he uses to grind his pelvis down hard.

Derek wouldn’t have guessed it from the spastic way that Stiles flails through his daily life, but when he actually gives in and _listens_ to his body, Stiles becomes a fluid undulation of bone and curves. Hips driving, torso swaying, long lines that scream _sex_ and _now_.

They went clubbing exactly once, and Derek barely lasted forty-five minutes before dragging Stiles into the back seat of the Camaro.

He hadn’t thought about how the _no touching_ rule would affect him, his hands, his mouth itching to lay themselves on Stiles. But it’s worth it, seeing lust tighten Stiles’ face, watching the flex and play of muscles in his thighs where they peek out from under Derek’s shirt.

So instead, he talks, trying to distract himself from the pressure on his dick, the sheer fucking need in his veins.

“God, baby boy, do you know how good you look? Can’t take my eyes off you. I want to know how many times I can make you come for me in a night. In an hour. Want to make you come until your hole is puffy and swollen and I’m dripping out of you, my come all down the backs of your thighs.”

Stiles freezes, eyes big and dark, and then shudders himself into frantic, rutting thrusts, shoving his cock against Derek’s belly.

“How much do you think you can take? More than just my dick? Could I stretch you out all wide and sloppy and loose, get a dildo up inside you too? Would you like that, baby?”

A broken noise slips out from where Stiles’ bottom lip is caught between his teeth.

“And then, once I’ve come inside you, once you’re full and wet with me, maybe I’ll plug you up and leave you like that, covered in me, take you out and show you off, down to that shifter club I was telling you about, so that everyone can smell it, can smell how you’re _mine_ , that I _own_ you.”

“Yes,” Stiles sobs, “yes, daddy, please, _yours_ -”

The satisfied sound that rumbles through Derek’s chest is entirely animal.

“Yeah, you are, Stiles,” he growls, “going to _keep_ you, tie you up to my bed and not let you go, ever, ever, want to carve my name across your skin and watch the blood well up, lick it off you, want to taste your tears while you’re bleeding for me.”

Stiles isn’t thrusting now so much as grinding, arousal thick in the air, clogging Derek’s throat, so heavy that Derek’s claws are digging into the cushions to keep him from grabbing hold.

“Derek, Derek, I’m so close, so, _shit_ , _oh_ , _fuck_ -”

“That’s it, come on, do it, baby, come in your underwear for me, dirty little boy, let me see, come on.”

Stiles comes so hard it looks like it _hurts_ , clenching into one tight arch, head tipped back, pale throat bare. It puts him all on display, and Derek’s mouth waters as a hot, damp patch blooms on the front of Stiles’ underwear, the salt-tang of come so strong he can taste it.

Stiles is still panting when Derek tumbles him onto the cushions and shoves Stiles’ thighs apart, the better to get his mouth on sloppy, stained fabric. He sucks it, slick and bitter, rubbing his tongue over the lax heaviness of Stiles’ balls as Stiles whimpers, pushing at Derek’s head with weak fingers.

His hips are quavering up into Derek’s touch, though, and the flimsy protest he gets out is halfway between pained and pleased.

There’s a sting against his scalp as Stiles’ fingers twine into Derek’s hair, his body reminding him all at once that he hasn’t come yet.

“Derek, let me- I wanna touch you.”

And, _oh_ , he wants to be touched, wants that ridiculous, pink, plush mouth and those ludicrous, long-fingered hands. But he needs more than that; needs Stiles falling to pieces beneath him, needs him shivering and pleading, needs to get himself far enough under Stiles’ skin that he’ll still be there when Stiles leaves.

Derek rolls off of Stiles, getting to his feet, unbuttoning and unzipping just out of the reach of Stiles’ grabby fingers. Each inch of skin that appears makes Stiles’ grin stretch wider.

“Mmm, yeah, take it off, that’s right.”

“I think we can find a better use for your mouth, don’t you?”

Brown eyes roll, but Derek can hear the uptick in his heartbeat, the quickening pulse of blood in delicate human veins.

“Gonna fuck my mouth, _daddy_?”

Just the way the word drips off Stiles’ lips, wanton and lewd, is enough to get Derek’s dick thickening up, Stiles smirking in response.

“Tempting,” and _goddamn_ , is it tempting, “but I have something else in mind. I want you to stay there for a few minutes, okay?”

“Whatever you say.”

It takes a few minutes for Derek to track down what he’s looking for, and for once he silently thanks Erica’s propensity for gag gifts. The stress ball is a particularly lurid shade of purple, but it’ll work.

Stiles laughs when Derek drops it into his open palm.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“You may not be able to say your safeword. If you need to, drop that- I’ll hear it, and we’ll stop. Now hold still, I don’t want to knee you in the head.”

He settles carefully over Stiles’ chest, gets his knees underneath him, taking a moment to bend forward and work Stiles’ underwear down and off, stretching to grab the lube from the drawer of the end table.. The movement puts his ass right in Stiles’ face, and Derek can hear him suck in a breath as the realization hits.

“Derek?”

“That’s right, baby boy. I’m going to sit right there on your face, and you’re going to eat my ass just _exactly_ how I tell you to, aren’t you?”

“Holy fuck, yes. _Yes_.” Fingers dig into Derek’s hip and _yank_ him down towards Stiles’ mouth.

Derek rakes his nails down Stiles’ thighs in retaliation, leaving scarlet welts in his wake.

“ _Slowly_ , Stiles, Jesus. Start slow, tease around the edges a little bit.”

Oh. Oh, fucking... it’s been a long time since anyone has done this to him, swirled their tongue over him in syrupy, kitten-soft whorls.

“Yeah, that’s good, baby. A little bit more, get me all good and wet.”

He presses back until he’s up against Stiles’ face, until he knows that he’s all Stiles is smelling, tasting, that he’s filling up Stiles’ whole world right now. The sharp intake of breath is cool against his hole and Derek pushes even further, listening to the way that the breath stops in Stiles’ chest, the racket as his heart tries to compensate.

Stiles’ tongue flutters wildly as his heartbeat slows, enough that Derek leans forward again, lets him heave air into his lungs. His body reacts to the adrenaline rush, come-slick cock giving the first interested stir.

Derek buries the snick of the lube bottle under a flood of words.

“Sometimes I wonder how far you’d let me take you down. I think about it, when you’re not here, if I could wrap my hand around your throat and hold tight, ring your neck in bruises, watch as your eyes flutter shut and your pulse drags. The things I could take to your skin, how many different kinds of marks they would leave behind.”

He stretches out, slipping a finger into Stiles and riding the way he bucks upward. The movement of his mouth stops, tongue stalled against Derek’s skin, and he tsks.

“You stop and I stop, Stiles, do you hear me?”

Stiles hums against him and it shivers up his spine, the pure electric pleasure of it.

“Give me more, baby. Push that sweet little tongue inside, open me up. Hard, make me- _fuck_ \- make me feel it.”

It builds differently, liquid and honey-gold, not the pinwheel sparks and tension that he’s used to. It feels like it could last, like he could go on forever, and he burns to take Stiles to pieces again, and again.

He slicks two fingers into Stiles and normally it would be a stretch, but Stiles is a little loose from his first orgasm, and Derek knows he likes it, likes to feel the sting of it, the intrusion. Drives them into Stiles fast, ramps it up, and he only has to tap his tongue against a slick cockhead before Stiles is begging.

Derek pulls his fingers away, Stiles’ hole going tight, trying to keep him buried deep.

“What did I say, Stiles?”

“Goddamn it- _shit_ ,” Stiles is snarling underneath him, and there’s no denying that Derek fucking loves it, loves that he can work Stiles up like this and he’ll still submit, place himself willingly into Derek’s hands and just take it.

“ _What did I say_?”

Stiles growls, but he gives in, curling into Derek, lapping at his rim, nipping softly at supple skin.

“Good boy.”

The reward is the hot clench of Derek’s mouth, the insistent press of his fingers. They feed off each other, but what’s a slow burn for Derek is a magnesium flare in Stiles, and it’s not long until Stiles is rocking up and back in the frantic little jerks he gives right before he spills over the edge.

Stiles’ heart pounds a peculiar hiccup as he throws his head back, keening high in his throat and then dropping to a wretched moan when Derek stills the pace of his lips, the twitch of his hand.

“Derek, Derek, please, let me come, please, I’ll be good, I promise-” it’s sloppy and soaking, but Stiles manages it, weak and wavering but there, even as he throbs out his orgasm to the pull of Derek’s mouth.

So Derek doesn’t stop, rolls Stiles’ balls over his tongue, feeling each twitch and jerk, sucking come from the ridges of Stiles’ cock and the grooves of his belly with a dirty slurp. Keeps his fingers moving, folding in his pinkie, a clench in Derek’s belly as Stiles’ hole _gives_ around the width of his palm.

Four fingers deep and it’s impossible to miss Stiles’ prostate, scraping over it, nudging. Gentle, at first, in time with the slowing pace of Stiles’ breath, the pained, over-stimulated jerk of his hips. He has to bend carefully, arch his spine, but eventually Derek can snake his tongue between his fingers, soft and soothing on pink, abused skin.

What humans- and even his pack of bitten wolves- don’t realize is that the thrum of the world is _deafening_ for a born shifter. As a kid he’d had more sympathy for the Grinch than for the Whos down in Whoville, with all their noise, noise, noise. For him now, though, an adult, an alpha, tuning it out is automatic, happens just like breathing. He’s not walking around, constantly taking in data from every person who walks past- he’d go crazy. But this, the flow of air through Stiles’ lungs, the steady drum of his heart, the shift and sway of his scent... Derek reads what Stiles’ body is telling him without even trying.

It’s intoxicating. Those secret bits and pieces of Stiles, unfolding for Derek. All the more so because Derek is pretty sure that even after all these years, Stiles doesn’t realize how much his body gives away.

Like right now, when Stiles is biting back tiny, shaky whines, cock slowly stirring under Derek’s careful ministrations. What little focus Stiles had is entirely gone now, his mouth open and damp against Derek’s skin, tongue darting in careless swipes that are just barely enough to keep Derek simmering.  Stiles seems to think that he can’t come again, but Derek knows, he _knows_ that he can push his boy further. The potential for more is hidden in the tension still coiled along Stiles’ spine, the candy-sweet pheromones Derek can taste hovering above his skin, caught in the crease of his thigh.  

He works Stiles slowly, languid and inexorable. Wants to pull it out of him like the moon, as inevitable as the tide, as Derek’s shifts. Stiles is so sensitive now that even the most flitting stroke has him writhing in long, drawn-out quakes that spread from his core all the way to his clenching toes.

Stiles spends as much time pulling away as he does pushing forward into it. He’s almost soundless, every muscle straining, head lolling back. Breaking the rules, technically, and Derek will punish Stiles for it later but he’s not stopping now, not for anything, he wants to see Stiles _obliterated_ , wants to force him over the edge and watch him lose every bit of himself.  

It may be the most goddamn gorgeous thing Derek’s ever seen.

His back bows, arching until his spine’s up off the couch and they’re pressed together in a long, electric line of sweat-slicked skin, cock pulsing a single spill of come against the skin of Derek’s throat, the bob of his Adam’s apple.

In between one breath and the next, Stiles falls to pieces, limbs loose and joints lolling; there’s only one part of him with any cohesion left, and it’s the tight clutch of his white knuckles around the vivid purple ball.

Derek presses his fingertips to the wet skin at the base of his neck. Stiles’ mark, his scent, branded right there onto Derek’s skin where any other wolf could smell it.

Like a claim.

_Fuck_.

“I’m going to come _all over you_ ,” he hisses, suddenly so hard he can feel the blood thrumming in the base of his cock. He scrambles to turn around, hands sticky with lube, with come, with the slick drops trailing down his own cock.  

“I want to come on your face. Paint you with my come until you never stop smelling like me, Stiles- _ah, goddamn_ \- you’re mine, d’you hear me, mine, my perfect baby boy, such a good, _fuck_ , good boy, _fuck_ , _Stiles_ -”

Come beads in dark lashes, splattering over the fine arch of a sharp cheekbone, slipping down the offered curvature of Stiles’ neck. The way he looks- slutty and desperately _used_ \- has Derek striping his dick harder, faster, fucking frantically into his fist.

Lips part and a tongue curls out, sneaking a taste, and Derek takes it, shoves his cock in deep and lets the sweet spasms of Stiles’ throat drag out the last of his orgasm.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to the perfectly beautiful [casualpahoehoe](http://casualpahoehoe.tumblr.com), and to the beautifully perfect [LapOtter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LapOtter) for looking this over. Also to Optimus Prime, who suggested overstimulation, and [a_xmasmurder](http://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder), who wanted more daddy kink.
> 
> I'm still taking kink requests for this series! You can leave them here or over at [my tumblr](http://thatworldinverted.tumblr.com). Please note that I will not be writing sub!Derek or mpreg, so please, don't ask.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Challenge accepted](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037265) by [cornwankies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornwankies/pseuds/cornwankies)




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